A Child's Tears
by ProfessionalMuse
Summary: This is the second story I wrote over a decade ago in the David Haller arc. Magento learns keeping his promise to care for the children of Charles Xavier would be more extensive than he believed.


NOTES: This takes place immediately following the events in Uncanny X-Men 201. Ancient history, I know, but I wanted to explain why David seemed so determined to blame all the evils of the world on Magneto in Legion Quest. Hope I succeeded.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. Marvel does. Get thee behind me, greedy lawyers.

A Child's Tears

"Rough wind, that moanest loud  
Grief too sad for song;  
Wild wind, when sullen cloud  
Knells all the night long;  
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,  
Bare woods, whose branches strain,  
Deep caves and dreary main, -  
Wail, for the world's wrong!"  
-Percy Byshe Shelley, "Dirge"

Charles, my old friend, I promised to care for your children. In truth, I had little choice. You were dying. That much I had known from the moment Captain Forester and I arrived at your school. The pinched look to your mouth, those new, deeper lines around your eyes, the slight bluish tint to your fingertips, all these spoke of imminent death. In my life, I have become all too familiar with it. I was never deceived by your list of easy excuses.

But the knowledge that you were dying did little to prepare me for the sight of you, lying before me in breathless agony, struggling for each beat of your heart. There was nothing I could do to save you. I could not even ease your pain. Nor did you ask it of me. All you wanted, all you demanded, was a promise that I look after your children. It seemed like such a little thing to give, a tiny bit of comfort, perhaps the last you'd ever know. What else could I have done?

I had no intention of fulfilling it, of course. Your X-Men did not truly need to be cared for by one such as myself, once a sworn enemy. They are adults, more or less, for all you find that impossible to accept, and reasonably able to look after themselves. The New Mutants would need guidance, true, but surely not from me. I have been uncomfortable with children since losing my Anya. Your students and I could never have the rapport you had so effortlessly. Besides, I had faith in Lilandra's promise. You would be healed and would return.

That was six weeks ago. You have not returned. I know now you never shall. Something must have gone wrong, some complication in the procedure to heal you which Lilandra did not foresee. You must be dead. I have no choice but to honor my final promise to you. Your children will be well cared for.

Such care would not be easy. I knew that from the start. Cyclops met my tale of Lilandra's intervention with open mistrust. Even the news that his son had been born could not take the scowl from his face when I walked into the room. Within a week, he had returned to Alaska with his wife and their child. The meaning of his break had been clear. Scott, the first of your students, the one who was clearly your favorite, had broken with the X-Men entirely. So long as I remained in the mansion, he would not return.

I have not met with better fortune from the New Mutants. They seem to enjoy defying me, or, at least, driving me mad. Many is the hour I have spent locked in your study, safe behind the soundproof door, venting my fury at Storm as she does what she can to calm me. She has an amazing knack for turning their worst act of rebellion into nothing more than a harmless prank. Were it not for her, I fear I might have slapped those teenagers into leg irons before the first day was done.

The X-Men and the New Mutants. Your children, Charles. It is their well being which you have entrusted to me. And I shall do my best.

But, Charles, you have another child.

I do not know why this news should have surprised me. The exact nature of the affection you and Gaby felt for one another was obvious to me in Israel. When I left the pair of you, I knew you were lovers, or soon would be. I later learned that Gaby had a son. Oh yes, I kept my eye on her occasionally and had watched her career flourished with a sharp pang of pride. In all that time, I never associated you with the boy, David, until I saw his picture in your desk. Dr. MacTaggart confirmed my suspicions. David Haller is your son.

I was troubled to learn no one had told the boy you were missing, much less that you were presumed dead. Moria gave a painstaking description of his emotional problems and listed a catalogue of reasons why he should not be told the truth. He was psychologically only ten and such a trauma might undo all the improvements he had made. You were something of a fixation for him and losing the object of the fixation could unbalance him. We didn't know for certain you truly were dead. All are very sound reasons.

However, the boy is a telepath. He will eventually learn what is kept from him. The reasons why it was kept will not matter. He will see only that his father could not possibly have kept his promised return that summer. David will know that those around him deliberately prevented him from learning the truth, that they lied to him. All his illusions will be utterly shattered. He will learn to doubt and become mistrustful of his friends and family.

That would be a more crushing blow to his fragile ego by far than learning the truth now. I knew he must be told. As your friend, as the man who promised to care for your children, I had to be the one to tell him.

The sight of him left me gasping. Charles, the lad is you reborn! A bit more hair, I will grant you. He has Gaby's coloring as well, her darker eyes and skin tone. However, the shape of his face, the angle of his brow, even those long, delicate fingers, these are your bequest to him. A stranger's eyes in the face of my friend. I could not help staring.

He was sitting alone in the window seat of his bedroom, looking out over the sea. His mouth was twisted in thought, an expression I had seen you wear so often as you puzzled over a patient in Haifa. A supply boat was due from the mainland, Moria had said. Gaby had promised to write him this week. A letter and possibly a care package from home, as if he were any other nineteen year old. I do doubt, however, that many others clutched a teddy bear in their lap while they were waiting.

"David," I called out to him. He turned towards me, a puzzled look on his face. No doubt he was wondering who this strange man in the cape could be. Gaby must have showed him the old photograph, or he watched my trial on television, for he recognized me within seconds.

"You're Magnus," he said, then corrected himself. "I mean Magneto." His eyes went wide as he spoke. I could detect just the slightest trace of an Israeli accent in his voice. After all, he'd been raised in Paris for many years, but has been born in the Holy Land. Israel was at least one point of commonality between us. We could build from there, I thought.

"Yes I am," I replied in Hebrew, hoping silently my grasp of the language was not so vague as I feared it had become from years of disuse. "I am also a friend to your parents."

The boy answered me in kind, his Hebrew far superior to my own. "I know. My mother told me."

"And your father?" I asked.

He shrugged, switching back into the more informal English. "Dad doesn't talk much about his past. I think he likes the future better."

Perceptive child, I thought. "Yes, I have noticed that as well. But I've come to speak to you about your father."

"Okay," he agreed easily, setting the teddy bear aside. "But, you are still friends again, right?"

I smiled at him as I gestured towards a chair, causing it to slide close to his bench. "I assure you, David, I have always been your father's friend, even during the worst of our disagreements."

That is a difficult concept for a child to grasp, that you may still care for a person regardless of your anger. To the young, the world is so easily divided into enemy and ally. I watched his lips twist again, a new and unique element added when his bit the corner of his mouth. So like you, and yet so much himself. "Um, whatever," he said. "Just as long as you're not fighting. Mom hates it when you fight."

"We are not fighting," I promised, privately wishing we were indeed at war again. At least then you could be here for your child, instead of this bitter and bewildered old man. Truly, I had no idea where to start, now that I was here. How does one tell a child his father is dead, especially a child supposedly fixated upon that parent? Perhaps Moria had been right to advise silence after all, just not for the correct reason. David may not break under the strain of the truth, but the same might not be true of me.

David watched me curiously, cocking his head slightly to the side. I realized I had been standing in his doorway for several silent moments, trying to think of something to say. With behavior such as this, I was more likely to startle the boy than to help him. He said nothing in protest though, even when I sat down close to his side.

"I don't really know all that much about Dad," he said as I took my seat. "Not really. But I'll tell you what I know."

My mouth was dry. How alike you and I are, Charles. My own son does not know much about me. Nor I, him. He was nearly a man when I found him, and was a father himself before I learned the truth of his relationship to me. I always suspected it, but suspicious proved an unstable foundation for our relationship. They could never overcome my anger at Magda for leaving me as she did, for opening up the possibility that I might have a son of whom I knew nothing. Did you find it any easier than I? Were you able to forgive Gaby enough to love the son you shared?

Such thoughts are uncomfortable to me. Pietro is a difficult man, a mix of my pride and his mother's fear. You son had been spared such a pedigree. The boy before me was an innocent in ways my own son had never been, a gentle creature at heart, so very trusting. His eyes and quick smile told me that much. They are identical to yours, my friend.

It took me some time to settle on a way to begin. Finally, I hit upon one possibility. "Did your father ever mention Lilandra," I asked at last.

The boy shrugged, and then shook his head. "No, sir. But I heard Dr. MacTaggart and Rahne talking about her once." Here he paused to chew his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I think she's Dad's girlfriend.

An odd term to use for the ruler of a galaxy wide empire, I thought. It would do for my purposes though. "Do you know where she lives," I pressed.

Here he frowned, his brows furrowing in a way so very familiar to me. "Kinda. Jemail told me something once, but I don't think it's really true."

Jemail. Moria had mentioned him. One of David's three alternative personalities, in control of the boy's telepathy. Jemail was the rational, reasonable one. He appeared genuinely fond of the boy. So, he'd scanned someone and gained the knowledge of Lilandra which he then passed on. Good. It would spare me the necessity of stretching that particular bit of truth.

"He told you she came from another world." My words had an immediate effect on David. He jumped in his seat and stared at me, mouth gaping.

"How did you know?" he demanded.

I gave him my best attempt at a fatherly smile. "I know because it is the truth."

His eyes grew wider still. "Jemail said she was queen of her planet. Like in _Star Wars_." I nodded, indicating that was indeed accurate. He grinned. "Wow!"

A few more heartbeats would pass before I continued, giving him a chance to bask in the news for a bit. Then it was time. "David, your father was...very ill."

He nodded again, still in awe at my pervious announcement. "Jemail told me that too. Said that was why he hadn't been out to see me lately." A thought struck him. "If he's too sick to come see me, I could go see him. He already said I could come see the mansion. Mom wouldn't mind. At least, I don't think she would. I could ask her."

I shook my head. "It's more complicated than that. Your father's illness was not something we could treat. Lilandra thought perhaps she could cure it. So she came for your father."

"Oh, so he's with her," the boy said. "Well, I guess I could go to another planet, if Dad is there. I mean, I could breathe there if he can and stuff. Do you think she'd mind?"

Good lord, this was going to be worse than I expected. I braced myself. "David, Lilandra was wrong. She was unable to cure your father."

"He's back, then?"

I sighed. "No. I'm afraid he will never come back."

At first, he simply blinked at me without comprehension. If his father left with Lilandra but did not stay, he must be back. Slowly, the meaning of my words hit home. His lip began to tremble. "My dad isn't coming home? Are you sure? Maybe he just needed to stay longer. He could have been sicker or something."

If only that had been true. But Lilandra would have found a way to tell us if that had been the case. "We would have heard some news then. I'm sorry, son. Your father is dead."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that."

I drew back a bit, puzzled. "What did I say?"

"You know what you said." He glared at me, his hands knotting into fists. "And you're lying. My dad would have said good-bye to me."

"David, there wasn't time," I said. "I'm sorry. This must be very painful, I know. I lost my father when I was a boy. I remember how terribly that hurt."

"It's not true."

Denial was typical for a child. I expected it. "Right now, it's hurts too badly for you to accept. That will fade with time. The good memories will remain. It will get better, son."

'I'M NOT YOUR SON!"

His attack was sudden. I was prepared for tears, perhaps that he would even attempt to strike me. Not for this. The contents of the room seemed to fly at me. There was fire, the entire room engulfed in a sudden inferno. I barely had time to throw up a magnetic shield around myself before the flames reached us. I moved to do the same for David, to protect him from his own rage, only to find it was unnecessary.

As quickly as it began, his assault ended. The fire was snuffed out. All the items raining down on me clattered to the floor. David stood up to face me, no longer awkward or ungainly. His movements were quick and self assured. This was no boy, not anymore. I was looking at a man standing where a child has been only a moment before. He gave me the most apologetic smile.

"I am sorry," he said. "David will do no further harm."

This new voice was similar to David's, but deeper and more heavily accented. I knew immediately who it must be. "Jemail, I presume."

The man inclined his head to me. "I am. Fortunately, Jack and Cindi were as shocked by your news as David. They will not be gaining control today."

That was a surprise. "You already knew about Charles," I said. It was a possibility I'd never considered.

"Of course," he replied. "Dr. MacTaggart and Rahne believe Professor Xavier dead as you do. I read it in their thoughts, but decided to keep the matter from David."

There it was. A reproach from a being far more intimately familiar with your son than I was, a being who was truly an aspect of David's own mind now. I had indeed misjudged the situation. "Forgive me," I said. "I did not want the boy to think everyone was willing to lie to him. If he is anything like his father, he would resent such efforts to 'protect' him."

The man's smile gentled into humor. "Indeed, he does resent it. You read him correctly. But I'm afraid he does not understand either our reasons or your actions. And he is, as the Americans say, shooting the messenger. He is blaming you for his father's death."

My grandfather had died when I was a child of six. For years before that, he'd been ill with what I now suspect was emphysema. One morning, we simply found him dead in his bed, having passed away in his sleep. Despite knowing my grandfather was deathly ill, I blamed the doctor who came to our house and pronounced him officially dead. If he had been a proper doctor, I thought, he would have found a way to save my grandfather. Such thoughts are universal in children; Death must always be someone's fault. That it might simply befall anyone at anytime is far too frightening a concept. It would mean death might come for them as well, a fate children cannot accept. No doubt, you blamed someone for your father's death as well, eh Charles?

"Let the boy blame me if it comforts him," I said. "He cannot blame me more than I blame myself."

Jemail crossed his arms and regarded me carefully. "Dr. MacTaggart blames you as well," he admitted. "She thinks you are lying about Lilandra's arrival as a cover for deliberately overtaxing the Professor. She knew he was dying, but she feels you hastened the end."

To my surprise, I felt no anger towards Moria for having such an idea, only resignation. After so much hostility for far too many years, of course she would think the worst of me. This was simply one more obstacle I must overcome to fulfill my promise. And I had an idea how I might go some ways towards overcoming it. "If you have any doubts," I said, "let me dispel them."

Deliberately, I dropped all my mental shields, all the barriers I had built up over our long association, both to keep you out and my private shames in. Let this man see me for what I truly am; let him know what I saw from my perspective. He could judge the truth of my words then. I would not enjoy being so easily read. Allowing someone to invade my mind, even at my behest, reminds me all too well of the horrors of my youth when I was forced to allow others to invade my body. But for your boy's sake, I would do whatever I must to help. If he would not believe the truth from me, then let him hear it from this Jemail.

The sensation of another's mind within my own flared briefly and gently, and then faded entirely. I returned my barriers, noting that Jemail was watching me with a new degree of respect. "I will tell David the truth I see within your mind," he promised, understanding my intent. "But he will not believe me."

"Not now," I agreed. "He is a child. Children need villains in order to have heroes."

Jemail nodded. "But he will not always be a child. Perhaps one day, he will understand what you have done."

What I had done was little enough. I could not be of any real use to this boy. Altering time is beyond my power. I could not give him his father back. All I could do is allow him to make me the focus of his anger and grief at your death. You did not "leave him." I took you from him. It would be my fault. You would be blameless. His love for you could remain untainted by your loss. That is a small gift to cover such a large harm. I suppose, it was rather like making a half-hearted promise to a dying man, knowing full well it could not be entirely kept. It is more than a token effort, but not enough to do any true good.

Charles, you would, no doubt, think this impossible for a bitter old man such as myself, but my heart broke for your son in that moment. I am one of the most powerful beings this world has ever produced, nearly a force of nature itself. Yet the only good I could do for the son of my dearest friends is to teach him to hate me. Am I truly a monster, then? I wish I knew.

In the distance, I could hear Moria swearing loudly as she ran for this wing of the complex. Jemail noted it as well. "It might be best if you left now," he said. "David needs to grieve. And Moria will make you drink her coffee. That is fate worth weeping over."

I tried to smile at his weak attempt at humor. He meant it to thank me for my efforts. But I could not abandon the feeling that there was something more I should do, something else I could try to help David. Jemail was right, however. Moria would force me out of this room the moment she arrived. It would be best to leave now.

With a gesture, I cleared a path through the debris and walked towards the door. A sound stopped me, a strangled sob. I turned back to see David, in possession of his body once more, slide down to the floor in a heap as he wept in the ruins of his bedroom. The teddy bear he'd held earlier had been charred beyond recognition. For comfort now, he wrapped his arms around his long legs, his entire body shaking with sobs. My reaction to the sight of him was instinctive, the act of a man who had once, so long ago, been a loving father.

I sat down beside your son and held him as he cried.

Charles, was that enough?


End file.
